


Sharpe's Home

by InkSiren



Series: Sharpe's Fanfic [16]
Category: Sharpe (TV), Sharpe - All Media Types, Sharpe Series - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Banter, Canon-typical language, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Reminiscing, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkSiren/pseuds/InkSiren
Summary: Patrick visits Richard in Normandy for Christmas, and realizes how fortunate they've both been.
Series: Sharpe's Fanfic [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034673
Kudos: 5





	Sharpe's Home

**Author's Note:**

> Book people, I'm only summary familiar with what happens to Sharpe at the end of his story. I just finished Fortress tonight, I'm working on it.
> 
> TV people I hate what they did to Lucille so this is a blend of TV and book canon instead.

It is nearly the new year, only a day after Christmas. 

They are wiping tears of laughter, half drunk and full of perfectly cooked chicken when a wisp of silver catches Patrick’s eye. 

Patrick himself started getting grey in his hair fairly young, and he’s rather inclined to blame following Richard over all creation for the fact that he doesn’t have much brown left. Richard, damn him, aged rather gracefully. It’s only now, after all this time when Patrick is visiting Richard’s little farm in Normandy that he sees even Colonel Sharpe is going grey. 

“Pat, you alright? You’ve gone all stony faced,” Richard says, his smile still bright as he leans on the table and waves a hand at Patrick’s face. The firelight burnishes his skin into a healthy glow and the stark shadows thrown from his open shirt hide many scars.

“Aye,” he says, and even though he can feel tears, he does mean it. “Aye sir I’m more than alright.”

Richard’s face falls and he looks suddenly anxious. “You’ve got tears, Pat. New ones.”

“Don’t mind them, they’re for joy,” Patrick says, dashing them away. “I were only thinking.” 

Sharpe sits back a little, his brows furrowed like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Alright, what were you thinking about?”

“You’re going grey,” he answers, smiling a little as he gestures to his own temple. “Just there.” 

“Aye, I know. Been happening for a while now, don’t mean I don’t pull my share,” he says defensively, looking off into the fire full of logs he’d certainly cut himself. “Still plenty strong I am.” 

Patrick laughs, and it seems to startle Richard, who looks over at him with an almost hurt expression. Before he can retaliate again, Patrick waves a hand. “You daft bugger I didn’t mean it like that,” he says fondly. 

“Well then how did you mean it?” 

“I mean there were plenty of times where I never thought either of us would go grey,” Patrick says softly, and this time there’s a lump in his throat as he thinks of the ones who didn’t. 

“Oh,” Richard says softly, sitting back in his chair fully, the fire dancing shadows across his features as he stares into it. “Aye, I understand.”

“It’s strange to think, when I get down to it. Here you are, thirty years older than we were either of us supposed to get and you’ve a farm and a fortune and three children with your blood in their veins. Men like us don’t get that often.”

“Men like us should,” Richard says with the same bite and snarl that Patrick remembers from every time he’d thrown himself into the defense of his men. 

“We should,” Patrick says even more gently. “But we don’t. And...I’m only grateful you did.”

“We did,” Richard corrects, turning to look at him then with a small smile. He’s softened, and with the firelight painting his throat the pulse that has carried him this far still beats strong and steady where Patrick can see it. “You’ve children and a home too Pat, and you’ve been sporting that grey for some time.” 

Patrick snorts, raising his glass again as he sits back. “Aye, and who do you think is to blame for that misfortune? I’ve half a mind to show you how strong I still am, put you on your arse for that comment.” 

The grin comes back and it’s still brighter than India’s sun. “I’ll take you on that, first thing in the morning after we’ve both slept off this rum,” he says,toasting with his glass before downing the rest of it. Patrick chuckles and watches him sigh happily before looking back into the fire.

With the crisp dark of another year just outside the window, the warmth and light is good.


End file.
